Broad Statement
by Hunter the Pyro
Summary: John just wants to be the good guy. As the only sane Common, however, that might be a little tricky. Especially when he and his friend start helping a new set of Survivors. As long as they can avoid losing their face in the process. I'M BACK!
1. Broad Statement

**Say hello to my side project, Broad Statement!**

**... Alright I think that's enough greetings for now. **

**-Broad Statement-**

* * *

_Prologue_

Lessers.

Weak.

Monsters.

Bait.

Normals.

Common. The enormous mass of Infected that roamed around America. They were all the same, deteriorating, small claws, probably covered in their own feces and vomit, and absolutely no conscience.

Clearly, I didn't fit well in that category.

Yet, looking at myself in the cracked mirror, that's what I saw. I was branded as a Common by hostile Survivors and... well, I looked like one.

Well, sort of.

It has been almost a month since the first infection of the Green Flu virus, and already the country has gone to hell.

I only made it a week through this virus.

Technically, that could make me a Fallen Survivor.

But for one to be a Fallen _Survivor_ they would have to have been a _Survivor_ in the first place. Calling me a Survivor would have set the bar real low, spending that week hiding from these monsters.

I wasn't a Special Infected that I knew of, either. I couldn't leap great heights, shoot tongues out to choke victims, attract hordes with my screams or vomit (I've tried on two separate occasions, just to see what happens), nor could I destroy structures with monstrous fists. And I definitely wasn't a crying, hopeless girl sitting in a corner with footlong claws.

I had special... traits that made me different.

I was smart. No, the Hunters were smart, I was _intelligent_. I knew that guns meant death. I knew that I wasn't human. I was very well aware of what was happening. Honestly, aside from a slight temper, this infection barely scratched me mentally.

I wasn't falling apart. If I kept a hat, sunglasses, and a sweater on, I'd pass as human. It's worked plenty of times. I liked to help Survivors. You know, at a distance. They'd be down in an alley or something, and I would call out and toss down anything they seemed to need.

My name is Jonathan. I knew about that much of my past. And I was infected. A Common. Even if I didn't act like one.

...Now that I think about it, "Common" is a bit of a broad statement, isn't it?

**_Chapter 1_**

_~Several days later~_

If I weren't so... dead, I guess, I'd climb down and help the small group of four. The darker one, who was called "Louis" frequently by the other 3, looked seriously injured. His leg was bleeding severely, only slowed by the bandages wrapped tightly around it. Must've been a close fight they went through... That or they just came from the cargo ship filled with the Witches, or the 'Ship of Bitches,' as Kyle called it.

Kyle was another one like me. Physically fucked up with whatever the strain was known for, but otherwise pretty sane. He was a Smoker, and had a long tongue that could shoot out of his mouth. Where in his body it retracted, I had no idea. Unlike other Smokers, he didn't have any deformations or tumors, and could blend in with humans better than I could. My eyes, which were slightly yellow, were a dead giveaway close up that I was infected (Or the look of HEP-A positive), but he had cool green eyes. Not infected green, normal, human green.

Lucky _bastard. _

Of course, neither of us used our advantages to harm humans. We were perfectly fine with normal food.

"Looks like they got caught up in a shithole, eh?" Kyle said, watching the four gun down the Commons. He wore a dark blue hoodie over his usual plain white t-shirt, much to my surprise, and it somehow fit his lean figure. "Where the hell did you get that?" I questioned. The hoodie had no duct tape on it, so at least he didn't maim a Hunter for it.

"Interesting story," he started, but trailed off as he stopped to watch something the Survivors were doing. I turned to see what it was.

The one with the green beret - Bill, I think - held something in his hand that I've never seen before. A white tube with a battery and a small box attached to it. What the hell?

It suddenly began blinking, and I swear I've never seen more Commons flood to one place at once. Bill threw it in the direction they came from, and the four ran towards the safe room as the Infected near the device were blown to bits.

"Looks like we got smart ones," I commented, admiring the makeshift bomb, and Kyle snickered. "Yeah, it only took 'em about... what, four weeks?"

"Four weeks, two days, seven hours, and thirteen minutes," I replied. I always kept track of that. It was a nice way to keep my sanity when nothing was going on. "Well, maybe we should go and help them," Kyle said, dangling a first aid kit by his tongue off the edge of the building. I quickly grabbed his tongue, pulled it back up, and snatched the kit away. "Are you crazy?" I whispered, noticing the biker looking around through the barred window. "There's only so many of these things left, we can't just play around with them!"

"Jeez, whatever," he calmly said. I looked back to the safe room to find the girl peering out the window now, gun in hand.

Looking right at us.

"Oh, SHIT!" I tackled Kyle right as the bullet screamed by, and we quickly scrambled out of sight. I gave him a death glare while he brushed himself off. "... What?" he asked. I rolled my eyes and poked my head over the building. The girl was distracted with some other Commons, their heads coming off with each shot. She had great accuracy...

"Do ya think we should stop with all the 'helping the Survivors' shit?" Kyle asked, but I shook my head. "I think we NEED to get those Survivors to safety." Despite the hostility, I understood why. We looked exactly like the monsters they've been shooting for probably a while.

I just seriously hope we don't end up staring down that barrel trying to help.


	2. Poor Chaps

**I'm gonna try and keep the story canon...**

**To an extent, of course**

**-Poor Chaps-**

* * *

I heard the arguing of the Survivors go on through the night. Kyle was fast asleep as I volunteered for night duty, seeing how the infection made sleeping almost obsolete for me.

"... Those were innocent people, Bill! People we just left to die!" That was the girl, Zoey. What happened a few hours ago still had me shaken up.

"They were the very people that would have shot us if we so much as FLINCHED," the raspy voice of Bill replied. I could tell he was a heavy smoker. I adjusted my position outside the door to stay out of sight. "We have to escape and get to the Keys."

"And you'll leave behind anyone else who gets in your way, right?" Zoey spat, and I practically felt Bill tense up. I heard his footsteps grow closer to Zoey. "I am NOT leaving my family behind," he spoke in a dark tone, and I grew uncomfortable listening.

A long silence. More footsteps, a pause, then a lighter. "Do you know what the difference is between us and the military?"

There was a short silence before Bill spoke again. "Hope. They're following somebody's orders and protocol to get rid of the Infection. Nomatter how many lives are lost in the process. But us?" Several more footsteps towards Zoey. "We're doing it to survive. And once we survive, to _live_." The tension between the Survivors seemed to loosen with every second that passed. "I will get you three to the Keys even if it kills me. I want to see you survive this, Zoey, you're too young to have to deal with this-"

"I'm not a damsel in fucking distress, Bill!" the girl yelled back, making me jump. I put my ear against the wall again, waiting for the old man's response.

"Trust me, if anyone's a damsel in distress, it's Francis," he rasped, "but you shouldn't have to deal with this anyway." I heard more movement, but wasn't sure what it was. "Now get some shuteye, kid. We'll head out for the bridge tomorrow."

With that, Bill's footsteps went somewhere deeper into the building until they stopped where I assumed the other two were resting.

Zoey didn't do much after that, and a quick peek through the bars ensured me that she had fallen asleep. I just noticed the tears that were on her cheeks as I put my hand through the bars and carefully removed the metal bar holding the door to the wall. Once it was off, I carefully pushed the door open, not making a sound as I gently placed the bar back in place, now inside the safe house.

'**_Stupid idea_**,' the voice in my head muttered. I assumed that the virus left its victim with a voice that screamed for it to kill, that drove them mad. But, like me, it was otherwise calm, like a second conscience for me and my decisions.

A creepy, broken English speaking conscience.

'It'll work,' I thought back, and it remained silent after that. I crept towards Zoey's sleeping figure, remaining quiet, and once behind her, I grabbed her quickly and shoved my hand over her mouth before she could scream. She grunted, startled, and tried wriggling out before I shushed her with my finger. "Trust me," I whispered, and she froze almost instantly. "W-what?" she whispered back, finally stopping her struggling. "... O-okay." I nodded my head as I slowly removed the pack off my back, filled with everything I felt they'd need for Louis. The second it touched the floor, I let go of her and moved towards the door. She went through it, taking out the bandages, antiseptic, pain pills, and several magazines for their near-dry weapons, and looked up to see me placing the bar back on the door, outside.

I ran off before she did anything, but luckily, I didn't hear her do anything.

Maybe, if I'm lucky, she thought I was just some Survivor that gave them a quick boost in supplies.

Me and my hopes.


	3. A Bigger Gun

**Didn't know creeps who depend on Google Translate for advertising their creepy relationship meeds used the review section...**

**...Medic. I need that medigun. My brainplace is scared. **

**-A Bigger Gun-**

* * *

"You're CRAZY, John."

Kyle seemed both interested in my story and at the same time outright pissed off. "Why the hell would you go up to a Survivor and just hand them shit?!"

"But Louis needed it!" I shot back. Kyle sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Of course he did, but when someone - may I remind you, _WITH GUNS_ - needs help, do we waltz up to them and fucking hand them supplies?"

"Shut up for a second, I hear them," I said, abruptly ending the argument as the red door swung open. Bill, of course, came out first.

Ignoring Kyle's huff of annoyance, I slowly followed them along the rooftops, listening or conversation.

Nothing.

Even Francis, who's said more words in 12 hours than I have in weeks, went silent. What happened?

I took a quick look at the girl from last night when they were distracted by several Commons. She was visibly shaken by last night, but the look of determination on her face worried me.

She must've been looking for me.

"Reloa-" Francis suddenly stopped as he stuffed one lonely shell into his dry shotgun. "Shit, Zoey, you sure there's nothing in that pack you found for me?"

"No, Francis," Zoey said, "just use a different gun, we passed by plenty."

"You're tellin' me to ditch Beth?" Francis questioned, kicking a Common's face in. I almost fell over laughing.

Who **NAMES A GUN?**

"Kyle, the bald one needs shotgun rounds," I muttered to him, and the Smoker paused, looking through the few boxes of ammo we brought, before tossing the box of 12 gauges down to them onto a bush. Francis, who was closest, jumped back as the metal box 'magically' came down from the sky, before slowly going through it and restocking his ammo. "Uh, nevermind," he said.

Throughout the rest of their trek they were a bit more talkative. Mostly the guys asking Zoey how and where she got the pack of supplies.

"I just found them last night," she'd keep saying.

Kyle suddenly tensed up, and I looked at him questioningly. "Tank," he whispered, "they're going right to him."

I stood there for a while before an idea came up. "Get the rocket launcher," I said, and hurriedly slid down the pole on the side of the building.

Wait. This is stupid, I'm about to run up to Survivors and expect them to stop before shooting...

Instead, I ran around them, bringing an AKM I found along the way to look a bit more... Survivory.

I spotted an open building uncomfortably close to the Tank's location, and hurried inside it. None of the Commons inside went for me. I was technically one of them anyway.

At the rooftop, I watched as the Survivors rushed towards my building, a small horde following them. Quickly, I began firing into the Infected, taking several down almost immediately.

This gun was great.

"Guys! Go around, there's a Tank inside!" I yelled down. I managed to see the Tank in some kind of laundry room, pushing the washing machines around curiously, completely unaware of the gunfire.

Bill looked up first, instinctively bringing his gun sight up to look at me. But I must have looked human enough, because he nodded and gestured for the others to follow him into the alleyway next to the house.

Zoey looked up at me, and I saw the look of shock on her face. She seemed hesitant to follow her friends, until a Hunter screeched out.

Shit.

That sound was like a beacon for Tanks to follow.

Almost immediately, the Tank busted through the wall of the apartment building, looking around wildly before its eyes locked on poor Zoey.

"To the left!" I yelled at her, and she almost immediately bolted towards the alley as the Tank swung it's massive fist where she was mere seconds before.

Seemed like this wasn't their first time with these things.

The other Survivors started firing a wall of lead into the Tank, backing up every time they needed to reload before letting out more gunfire at it. I did the same, almost directly above the Tank as it began charging into the alley like a gorilla.

A massive, bulletproof gorilla on steroids.

The hiss of a rocket made me back off as Kyle came up out of nowhere with an RPG and sent the projectile into the beast's back.

The explosion was almost impossible to look at as molten carbon burned through the Tank, barely missing the Survivors on the other side.

It seemed to freeze up for a couple seconds, staring blankly at the massive hole in its charred flesh, before falling forward and slamming into the ground. It's entire back was almost completely blackened, a good 60% of it burned and scattered around the alley.

"Holy _SHIT!"_ Francis yelled, looking at Kyle like he was a childhood hero. "That was fucking AWESOME!"

"You guys alright?" I asked, slowly making my way down the fire escape. I gave myself a quick look-over before getting closer. Dark jeans, white T-shirt, red jacket, no blood on anything.

I guess I looked normal.

"Yeah, thanks for the help," Louis said. "How long have you guys been here?"

"Couple of weeks," Kyle lied, walking towards us.

"Bill, they gotta come with us," Louis said, Francis agreeing. "Hell yeah! You guys are freaking crazy!"

The old man sat there for a second, taking an extra long inhale of smoke from his cigarette, Francis and Louis watching like pleading puppy dogs.

"... Alright, you're coming with us."

Wait, what did Kyle and I just agree to?


	4. Escape Plan

**Apologies for the massive wait, my summer job exhausts me at the end of every day, it's real hard to find the time and motivation nowadays, but here we are!**

**_Different_**** is on temporary hiatus, but I'll try and get some more chapters in, hopefully longer!**

**Now please enjoy my longest chapter yet! Don't forget to favorite, follow, and review!**

**Chapter 4: Escape Plan**

* * *

"You guys really found a Tank _THAT_ big?"

"Aw, hell yeah, this thing was at least half the size of an eighteen wheeler."

While Kyle exaggerated more of his stories to Francis and Louis, I sat in the corner of the next safe house with Bill, checking the supplies. Well, most of it was just spent watching the bullshit come out of the Smoker's mouth.

"And then, John was going 'Oh shit, we're gonna die!' But I said 'Nah, we got this.' I guess the pack of Hunters we were running from had a grudge with the Tank, because they forgot about us completely and made a mad dash for the thing!" Francis seemed to be so glued to the story, I wouldn't be surprised if he sat criss-cross in front of Kyle with a box of juice.

Louis was more humanely interested, sitting in a folding chair opposite of Kyle, half focused on the story, half focused on the partially made pipebomb in front of him, making periodic grunts of acknowledgment. Since Francis was a complete idiot, Zoey was still scared of me, and Louis was working on something far too complex for me, I assumed Bill would be the best option.

I gave the veteran a quick glance. He wasn't like what I'd assume the elderly would be like. Strong, not very healthy but enough for this, and a short, darkish gray mess of hair. His beard was all over the place, not that I blame him, and I noticed 'Overbeck' stitched to his green jacket.

Louis, despite his leg injury, was not all that bad. From his precise work with all the tech gear, sloppy red tie, once-crisp white uniform shirt, and dark khakis, I assumed he was a tech guy of some sort. Quite the damn optimist, even with a deep leg wound, and a disturbing good shot with close range firearms. He told me he used to go to firing ranges a lot, 'Just in case.'

Gotta hand it to the guy, he was damn well prepared.

Francis seemed to be the problematic one of the group, and it didn't seem like he was all that great before this. Tattoos littered his arms, and he wore a dark leather jacket with a small splotch of vomit on the side. Judging from how old the vomit stain looked, I'd guess he hasn't considered at least attempting to clean it. He was probably in a biker gang once, and his breath reeked of a history of alcohol.

From where I was sitting, I could smell it. That was the sad thing.

Zoey didn't look built for a fight of any kind, but at the same time she was pretty damn intimidating. She had a light red hoodie that was battered from the past few weeks, and her ponytail was a little messy. She had a small but noticeable bruise on her forehead, but looked otherwise OK. I wasn't sure if it was from her group protecting her or if she really was that good at escaping wounds.

The hunting rifle in her hand concerned me. Despite her argument with Bill about helping innocent Survivors (Although I guess I can't count myself in that group), she seemed wary about our presence.

I chose to ignore it, though. It'd be better to act like it wasn't a big deal than to look clearly worried about it.

"Hey, kid, you got HEP-A or something?" Bill's rasp broke me from my thoughts, and I looked over to see him watching me. "No, not that I know of," I responded, a bit confused, when it hit me.

My eyes.

Fucking hell.

"Huh," he huffed, but didn't seem overly interested on it, and went back to cleaning his M16.

He didn't notice HOW bad my eyes looked?

Last time I ever checked, they were a dead giveaway of infection, yet the old coot barely payed attention.

"Hey, this shit all true?" Francis interrupted, nudging me. I looked between him and Kyle, who was giving me a wink, and mentally sighed. "Yeah, yeah we see lots of crazy shit."

That was enough for Francis to believe, and he continued his conversation with Kyle. I turned back to look outside again, shaking my head.

Bikers...

Zoey continued to watch me, and I nervously did everything not to look back.

Didn't matter, she must've remembered my face, because she stood up and pointed a finger at me. "It was you..." she whispered. I stared at her with a blank face, but inside I was freaking out. What the hell was she going to do? "I-I'm sorry?"

"You broke in to our safe house last night," she said louder, getting Kyle's attention. "Miss, I was on guard duty last night when we were alone, he was out like a light," he lied. I wasn't sure if he could remember all his lies, but I went with it anyway.

"Y-yeah, plus, you should really get some rest." It was true, I could see the bags under her eyes and the fatigue plastered across her face. She must not have slept after I snuck out, and has probably been awake for two-nearing-three days.

Bill stood up, calmly placing his gun on the table. "John's right, I think we all could use some sleep before tomorrow," he said, gesturing deeper into the small building to sleep.

Francis almost groaned like a child, getting up with his shotgun as he left the room, mumbling something about it.

* * *

Kyle and I, of course, offered as guard duty for the night, and apparently we earned enough trust for them to be fine with it, except Zoey, who kept giving me a Luigi evil eye as she walked to an empty bedroom.

I sat in front of the safe room door, watching the Commons mindlessly stumble around. One tripped on something and fell down, tore open its arm as it nicked a rusty fence, and got up as if nothing happened.

Depressing.

I was VERY glad I wasn't that kind of Common.

"'Ey, John," I heard the Smoker whisper from his corner of the room. I turned to look at him, barely able to keep his head up. "Yeah?"

"How long do ya think we'll be able to stay with these guys?" he asked. If it weren't such a serious risk at this time, I would grab his tongue and pull on it to wake him up.

But it was a serious risk at this time, so I ignored it.

"Dunno," I responded quietly, staring back out into the infected, moonlit streets. "Guess as long as we can keep our cover. Maybe longer if they don't freak out."

"Like that'll happen..." he yawned, slightly drooping down in the corner. "Dude, get some sleep," I said, "everyone needs to stay sharp for the morning. We still got lots of Tanks in this city."

"Don't remind me..." he muttered, and I didn't hear another word from him, just quiet, deep breaths.

I spent the rest of the night leaned back in a folding chair, feet on a small table, watching the dead world outside.

It got me wondering how many were out there like us and actually intelligent, but with my luck it was only probably us two.

Probably for the best, I'm not up for fighting Tanks with even remote intelligence.

* * *

Morning came quicker than I anticipated, but before I knew it we were in a makeshift kitchen within the building discussing what we knew about the area to the Survivors. Kyle offered to cook breakfast, and everybody was more than fine with him doing it.

"... And if you cross through the alley here, the Witch would almost _never_ know you were there," I heard from the Smoker as he passed around plates of food. I was surprised how many perishables were here that haven't spoiled, and Kyle quickly went to work using them. It mostly consisted of bacon, scrambled eggs, and near-expired sausage. None of it might have tasted great, seeing how the electricity was unstable and cooking was hard when the power would periodically go out, but to us it was heaven.

Bill paused as he absorbed Kyle's information, and cleared his throat as he spoke again. "Alright, but how about the bridge over here? I don't expect many Infected to spend time near so much water."

"Pfft, you have no idea," I scoffed, swallowing a forkful of eggs. "So many Survivors go to the docks and bridge, but Infected almost completely ignore water. Hunters actually hide in the windows and leap at anything that comes by, knowing the humans will either fall off the bridge or drown."

Bill nodded slowly, drawing a red X over the docks on the map in front of him. I barely notice he had one.

"Brrt rrvrythrng ulse rs wurse wrth th zumbrs," Francis blurted through a mouthful of sausage, and we all glared at him, waiting for him to swallow. "Beg your pardon?" Louis asked, who found time to tuck his shirt back in. Not that it'll last.

"I said everything else is worse with the zombies," Francis said, swallowing his food. I took another look at the map. Everywhere we discussed to get to the sailboat they were trying to reach was marked with a big X, varying in size depending on the severity of the Infected there. The bridge had the smallest X, and I was pretty sure there are the least amount of Infected there. But there was one problem.

"Hey, guys?" I said, "The bridge is probably your safest bet, but the generators that power it are more than guaranteed to be either dead or empty. We'd have to start them all back up, which'll call every Infected in the city."

The whole room fell silent as everybody took it in.

Infected either really loved or really hated noise, and swarmed where there were noises, such as car alarms, or in our case, age-old generators. If we were to get to the bridge, one small house stockpiled with ammo and a machine gun would be the only form of defense if the hordes got too big.

"I say we do it," a small voice spoke up from the corner, and I turned to see Zoey standing up. "I don't think we have any other choice. All the food here will expire within the next day or so, and we're far too low on ammo. It's our only chance." She looked to me with a nod of approval of my idea, which absolutely surprised me.

I guess she got over what happened, and was more than glad to get back to the main problem of survival.

"Alright, we'll take a vote," Bill said, folding up the map and retiring it to his backpack. "All who want to risk the bridge, raise your hand."

Francis and Zoey immediately raised their hands, being with the idea from the start. Louis slowly brought his hand up, and I noticed Kyle bring his hand up too. All eyes were on me as I gave in and shrugged. "Alright, I'm in."

"Alright, guys, this is it," Bill said, "Grab your gear and get ready, we regroup at the safe door in fifteen minutes."

Everybody scattered to their own room in the building to collect whatever they needed, as Kyle and I stayed behind.

"You think this plan'll work?" he asked me, and I shrugged. "Only one we got rather than sitting here. You and I both know that'll end bad."

Kyle nodded in agreement, taking a seat on the torn couch by the door. He used his tongue to grab all of his gear on the other side of the room, and quickly shot it back to him before anyone came in and saw. I noticed the multiple boxes of unspent ammo stuffed inside his backpack, along with a G36 strapped to the side. "Damn, you've been busy," I said, and he merely smirked. "Where the hell did you find this stuff?"

"It's part of my interesting story," he replied, laying down on the couch. I watched him, waiting to hear this story about a hoodie and guns, but he said nothing. "Sorry, bud. You'll have to wait until we're in the clear before I'll tell ya," he said, and I waved him off as I left to find my gear in my room.

For once, I actually felt exhausted as I entered the room.

Were we actually going to go with these guys to the Keys? I'm not sure how we could tell them we're staying if we were going to be up against half the Infected in the city at the same time.

I may be intelligent, but now I think I was batshit crazy joining these guys in the first place. **_'Told you,'_** the voice stated sarcastically, and I huffed in annoyance as I collapsed on the bed.

Why couldn't I just get my head blown off already?


	5. Equalizer

**It's back!**

**Yes, after a long, tiring summer, I'm back in school, and, ironically, I have more time for fanfiction!**

**Let's see if I can make anything that passes as a quality story**

**Equalizer**

* * *

Mornings usually start with family, right? Where you all get together in your kitchen, whip up some delicious, or at least sub-par breakfast, and prepare for your day ahead. Typically in a well-maintained house, even. That's the normal routine for most people. Wake up, get dressed, eat, possibly with family, and go to work or school or whatever nonsensical bullshit you go to on a typical day.

My morning, however, started with loading loose ammunition into clips for weapons 'owned' by a group of 4 untrustworthy strangers and one shaky friend with a practically endless bungie cord for a tongue, as they did mostly the same with roughly the same opinions of each other as I.

Not so typical, eh?

Bill scanned his eyes around the room, giving each of us a short overlook as we jammed whatever we needed into our pockets, backpacks, what have we, until he gave his own gear a quick look over. Probably satisfied with his military-grade preparing, he lit a cigarette and turned the safety off on his M16. "Ready," he said, putting a hand on the metal bar keeping the safe room door secured. "You better be damn well ready too."

We all gave our own acknowledgement to signal that we were ready, Francis chuckling lightly to himself. Probably imagining what poor dead souls will end up being fucked by those shotgun rounds today.

In one swift motion, Bill lifted the metal bar off it's hold as it clattered on the ground, and pushed the red door open. The creaking sound it made was only echoed by the narrow alley to the side and cramped buildings. He effortlessly kicked an incoming Infected to the ground before sending the butt of his rifle into the zombie's skull. Blood splattered from where the rifle slammed into, but Bill either didn't notice or care as he continued to the small building opposite of ours.

Our goal was rather simple. Shoot through the small clutter of Infected blocking us from the bridge, start up the loud as hell generators, and shoot everything to kingdom come until the bridge lowered, we get on, and raise it back up to escape the hoard and get on a boat to Bill's next step in the plan.

It was easy on paper. Oh how _fucking easy it looked on paper. _

The 'small clutter' of Infected turned out to be a mini-horde of rather pissed zombies, and the second we opened fire on them all hell broke loose. At least, as much as it could considering a round or two put most Infected down. If anything the annoyances broke loose.

We followed Bill as closely as possible, since we were mostly used to gunning down Commons (At least I knew Kyle and I were, and Bill just seemed like that kind of ex-military prepared for it). Through the small building I could see a somewhat of a junction, splitting off between a ramp leading down near the bridge and a wide alley/road headed towards the main road. Of course, I knew at least two generators were more easily locatable if we cut through the alley, so I directed them that way. "We can find the generators quicker this way," I called out as I sliced through a miniature mob with a fire axe. The Survivors seemed so against getting this up close for quicker kills, I don't understand what the worry is.

Bill nodded as his Survivors headed down the alley, running up to the front as Kyle and I covered the back. Clearing out Commons was almost a simpleton's job by now, so idle conversation was easy.

"How about we get set up by all the generators and press them at once?" I suggested once Kyle was within talking distance. With him taking all the heavy weaponry it was useless trying to yell to get his attention. I could see the thought on his face, and he gave me a short 'Yeah' before speedwalking to the group ahead of us.

"John says we should find all the generators and prepare rather than start each one individually," the Smoker said after getting the group's attention.

Francis had a blank face before speaking. "What do you mean?" he asked, as his autoshotgun sent flechette into an undead woman's face. Kyle rolled his eyes, more than done with the biker's questions. "These generators are loud as hell. If we started them all at once we would have every Infected on our ass before we could even consider starting the last one." The biker seemed to understand enough of the reasoning behind it, and nodded. "Alright. Got it, all at once."

"How about we go in pairs?" I asked as a break in the pitiful wave of Infected showed. "Perhaps Louis and Francis, Bill and Zoey, and me and Kyle." Aside from Louis and Francis, the pairs seemed to be good enough for the small task. Then again, nothing's easy with Francis.

Louis made somewhat of a groan, but once we got to the house by the bridge we split up. Bill and Zoey took the generator next to the fence and the bridge, while Louis and Francis took the one down by the hedges.

That left me and Kyle with the "third" generator. Of course, we kind of lied saying there were three generators when we were all planning this morning. It was all planned so Kyle and I could have a private meeting on what to do. I knew he was just as tense about following the Survivors as I was. We only helped with occasional ammo and medical shit, this is way outside both of our comfort zones. We both carefully walked over to the general store up the road, where there was supposedly the third generator.

Once out of earshot, Kyle (silently) exploded at me.

"What the hell are we going to _do?!_" The Smoker's false calmness melted away into anger and nervousness as he gently paced back and forth around the store. "Sooner or later they're gonna find out, and frankly I'm not in the mood to die, and _ESPECIALLY_ not on a boat out in the motherfucking ocean!" I quickly stopped him as I peered out the window. "Kyle, just calm the fuck down," I demanded, watching his frustration grow. "You just need to chill out." His face grew beet red in anger. "Chill out? Chill out?!" he repeated. "John, we teamed up with a group of unpredictable and probably unstable killers. If anything happens and they find out, I can guarantee we will be killed without question and-"

"GET A FUCKING **HOLD** OF YOURSELF." I hissed, slapping the Smoker in the face. "You know that dumbass story you told them last night? About that time we ran from Hunters and a Tank? Honestly it seems like it's the exact opposite right now and _you're_ the one having a fucking meltdown."

Kyle took some time to regain his composure, before giving me a death glare. "We are in HOT WATER, John," he growled back. "You want to trust your LIFE with a cranky veteran, a psychopathic biker, a tech guy with a gun obsession, and an unstable college girl. And may I remind you they have been effortlessly murdering what we just about are without batting an eye." I stared at him in disbelief. This is the guy that thought AT FIRST to start helping other Survivors. The guy that thought of grabbing all kinds of supplies around the city for when humans came by to help them out. The guy that sat on a fucking roof dangling medical supplies by his tongue in front of said humans without a damn care in the world.

I'm not sure what happened. One minute I'm yelling at him, the next I'm lunging at him.

"You hypocritical SHIT!" I yelled, tackling the Smoker. We both slammed into the wall, and I heard an angry grunt from Kyle as he hit, but I didn't care. I went into a blind rage as I punched, kicked, and clawed at him. For ONCE he can't trust one fucking person, and yet he practically _ASKS_ to get killed!

Kyle growled back, shoving me off of him as he wrapped his disgusting tongue around me. It pinned my arms to my sides as he slammed me into the walls and ransacked shelves. My vision kept getting blurrier and blurrier with each hit. I think it did. After a while it was just dark blurs and fast movement. Did I hit the floor? No, he's still swinging me. No... oh holy _shit_ this is dizzying.

Suddenly, one sound made it through. The sound of a small gasp made both of us immediately freeze. But it wasn't from a Witch. If anything, all I had to do was outrun Kyle and I'd be fine in that case, but the source was not a Witch.

It was much worse.

"W-... What?" The college girl whimpered. I barely noticed her standing at the door, her dual pistols at mid-draw. Kyle almost immediately retracted his tongue, as I regained my balance and wiped the Smoker's blood off my claws/hands.

But there was no way to hide it.

"Zoey, this isn't-" I was cut off as she turned to run to the Survivors, and I was about to run after her when yet another sound made me freeze. An all too familiar low, heavy, and very angry growl. My brain went into auto-pilot, tackling Zoey and pinning her low below me to keep her from moving. "Shit your FUCKING mouth," I hissed to her, "Tank nearby."

She barely cared to listen as she shoved me away, and I stumbled backwards. If only I could do what Hunters did when they pinned victims down. "No... You shouldn't... you can't... speak, you're..." Zoey gasped, scrambling away. "Zoey, Kyle and I have been speaking since you met us, we're sane, not like them," I said softly, but it didn't change the fear or the hatred on her face.

However the fear ultimately won as a startled yet angered grunt blurted out as she bumped into a large, meaty fist, and only one thought came to my mind as I was then sent flying 30 feet.

**_I told you so._**

* * *

_I was sitting on a porch outside a house, sitting among a large field. Something told me in my head that it was my home. I decided to take a glance around._

_There was grass and fields spread out all along the... 20 acre span. Where'd that number come from? Is this a memory? A dream?_

_Although from what just happened I'm sure I'm dead._

_There was a long trail that led out into what seemed to be a town surrounded by forest. Something in the back of my mind told me to turn around, and I did. I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong._

_There was a tall man, dressed in dirty jeans and a light coat, with a wife beater beneath it. It was a little chilly, I was quick to guess it was fall._

_The man's face was surprisingly detailed for a dream, or memory or whatever the fuck was happening. He had a strong jaw with hollow cheekbones, and the dark five o' clock shadow and dark bags under his eyes told me he was one of those men that always worked. Always serious. His steel gray eyes stared straight ahead, down the road, his face emotionless. But I saw a slight hint of... sadness?_

_The voice in my head said this was my father._

_Rather than jumping up and hugging the man I never remembered, I turned to see what he was watching._

_A black car was driving down the road to our home. Its windows were tinted too dark to see through, and looked like the same type of car that the police uses. As it pulled up to our house, I felt my dad put a hand on my shoulder, and he leaned down towards my ear._

_"Get in the house," he whispered, and I went inside without question. I never remembered a situation like this in my life, yet I know exactly what's about to happen._

_Two men in dark suits stepped out of the car. One of them looked towards my father, pointed at him, and they both pinned him to the ground, handcuffing him._

_I don't remember what I said, but I yelled something as I bolted out towards the men. One stepped away and held me back, telling me something I again couldn't understand. The other man took my dad, put him in the back of the car, and drove off with him while the other man held me back._

_"Where is he taking him?!" I asked the man, struggling. He said nothing, but instead brought me back into the house until more police could arrive._

* * *

The Tank's roar was the first thing I heard when my eyes opened.

I jolted up, almost immediately regretting it as my side screamed in pain. I looked down to see it bleeding severely behind wrapped cloth. But as I looked around, I saw nobody near me.

Then again, I was in the back of a fucking van.

I stepped out to see machine gun fire whizz by me at a Tank-

No, _FIVE_ Tanks. Five giant, _pissed the fuck off Tanks._

"What the fuck is-" I was quieted by a tongue wrapping around me and quickly pulling me aside into a large generator room. I turned around to see a tired, very bloodied, and limping Kyle. "They're up on the bridge," he wheezed, "but those Tanks... won't fucking give up..." I took a quick look outside. Four crazed gunmen indeed were up on the now raised bridge as hundreds of Infected poured into the streets, along with five Tanks taking the gunfire head-on. Us being Infected, we were able to watch from the generator room next to the bridge without being attack.

"So they know, huh," I muttered, and Kyle scoffed. "No _fucking shit_, they know," he retorted, "We're damn lucky Bill was reasonable and gave us a choice." I gave the vet on the bridge a stern look before turning back to the Smoker. "What choice?" I asked. "He said if we help them clear out the rest of the Infected here, they'll let us be as long as we don't get in their way when it comes time for them to head out. If we don't, or come back, they'll treat us like them," he said, gesturing to the Commons being blown to bits by a pipebomb.

It didn't seem like we proved ourselves worthy to be treated as equals. I growled to myself and yelled as I punched the wall. How was I so _stupid_?! The voice in my head is almost always right, why didn't I follow it now?!

Screw it, if it'll keep the Survivors from shooting us, I'll go with it. "Get the rocket launcher," I demanded. "Get as many explosives as possible. We're clearing these motherfucking Infected out for good."

The Smoker nodded and ran/limped off as I grabbed the nearest gun and shot at anything that shouldn't be standing.


	6. Dead Man's Edge

**Here's where I start branching off from the canon story. In a massive way. **

**So, let's say the generators were made to keep the bridge raised, but nothing was set to hold it and one of two generators died, resulting in one side to start dropping... Who knows!**

**Dead Man's Edge**

* * *

I'm more than sure this is a stupid idea. Even though the voice in my head went silent after that memory, I still have that sick feeling in my stomach.

Other than the sick, painful feeling from the Tank's hit.

While Kyle went to find all of our explosives, I went on a massive search for as many things as possible that were ammo or a weapon. The sound of Hunters, Tanks, a Witch, and endless gunfire pounded behind me, but I stayed focused on finding as much ammo as I could find. With their ammo consumption, they were bound to run out soon.

I stuffed as many bullets, clips, grenades, molotovs, and materials for pipebombs into my backpacks as I limped/sprinted back to the bridge. I ran by a Hunter who looked at me, and we both stopped dead.

It was eye to bloody hood. I could feel the hair on my neck stand on end as it sniffed and slowly stalked around me. I could see it slowly going into a crouch. In my head I could hear my conscience going _'Please think I'm a fallen survivor please think I'm a fallen survivor please think I'm a fallen survi-'_

A loud boom got its attention, and the leaper gave me a low growl before leaping off as I gave a sigh of relief. Then I remembered I had to help the Survivors, and quickly shot it with my AK mid-pounce.

_"That's my son!" my father said, and I looked up, smiling as he patted my back and went to retrieve the deer I just shot. _

Wait, what?

I shook my head, coming back to reality. That was... weird. Must have been the first time I ever went hunting or something. Francis' trademark **"SHIT!"** made me remember what I was doing, and I sprinted over to the house. Once when everyone was asleep, I found Bill sitting in my usual spot for the night shift, watching the Infected outside just like me, and after light discussion we made a password system incase we got split in a tricky situation and it came down to a "should I open the door or not" scenario. Apparently, it worked quite well with his band of Survivors.

But... _FUCK_ what was it...

Oh, fuck it. "Hey Overbeck!" I yelled to the door, and soon enough Louis ended up opening the door to me, a bit shocked but still let me in. "I got more ammo," I told him as I set the bulging backpack down, already tearing as I opened it. Bullets and clips greeted me as I gave the full magazines to him and put the empty ones in a pile to fill later. Then, I quickly made several pipebombs, which I was more than easily able to do now, and carefully put several molotovs next to a lighter on the counter of the house.

I got up finally to see Louis looking at me, waiting for something. "Uh... what?" I asked cautiously, before he sighed. "I said what are you gonna do after this?" he repeated. "I really don't think even Zoey'll let you stay, and she agreed with you at the start." Again with this. Do they even want me helping them, or should I just haul ass now and leave? "We still need you, John," the techie said, practically reading my mind, "but you're really gonna have to do something big."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the generator by the main room start sputtering, and the bridge began to lower on one side. Slowly, but continuously. "Fuck, it's out of gas," I muttered, "Get back on the bridge, your guys need you. Kyle and I will keep the zombies back." Louis nodded before hurrying up the stairs, re-barricading it, and going back to the other three Survivors. I grabbed my AK, two molotovs, a pipebomb, a revolver, and my fire axe and ran outside again. I felt a certain mix of excitement and nervousness build up as I viewed the onslaught, like...

_'Like when I shot that bear in the foot accidentally after sneezing and pissed it off.'_

One Tank was finally dead, but the other four were still angry and throwing everything they could find. The bridge kept getting lopsided, and I could see parts bending and cracking.

**"Move your ass,"** the voice finally spoke up, and it was all I needed to get moving.

First the pipebombs. I lit both and tossed them down the street, which cleared out most of the Commons. I then hurled a molotov at the nearest Tank, catching it by surprise as both it and it's three friends burst into flame. I quickly rolled away from its massive fist and ran around the fence before the fire could consume me. Of _COURSE_ the damn generator died, it looked older than Bill. After three failed tries, it finally coughed back to life. As I turned I saw the burning behemoths charge for me, but they jumped back as a rocket screamed past me and hit one dead center. I fell back as it flipped back dead, and the molten copper projectiles burned through the next one's arm, and finished off another one. The disabled Tank veered back as the machine gun fire consumed it and finally killed it.

I turned around to see a very angry Kyle with an RPG and plastic explosive strapped all over his backpack. He took it off the flung it into the thickest crowd of zombies as it landed next to the last Tank, which was recovering from the RPG blast. I saw the Smoker then take out a remote detonator, but before he could press it I heard a sickening crunch at the bridge.

The damn thing was so lopsided, one side was completely raised while the other was almost completely lowered. The road on it was falling apart, and lots of the beams were creaking in protest as the lowered side began to raise again. Some beams actually began to snap off, and I saw the part the Survivors were on begin to break.

_'If we just did all this hard work and go home with no game, we'll be stuck with whatever your mother makes for dinner, Johnny.'_

I took the clacker from Kyle as I jumped up onto the bridge. The ladder started to lean, but I still climbed up as it began to fell. I jumped off the last rung as it fell and collapsed on the ground, and I hurried to the Survivors as the bridge began to screech as metal began to twist and crack and collapse. "Jump to the house!" I yelled to them, but didn't give them a choice as I shoved all 4 in front of me over the railing onto the one on the house. As the bridge finally began to collapse, I pressed the clacker as I saw a massive flash of light and fire before the beam above me hit my head. I blacked out as the monstrous bridge finally crashed into the water.

* * *

_"Dad, where's Mom?"_

_My dad sighed as he put down the birdhouse. I was in the barn with him, and was about 5 years old. We both had a bad habit of getting easily distracted with making birdhouses, and we were in the process of painting one cherry red when it popped into my head to ask. "Mom's... she, she's still on vacation," he said, his stern but friendly look quivering for just a moment. "Where?" I asked, starting to paint my side of the birdhouse. But I stopped as I saw him staring at the birdhouse, the wrinkles of his face more noticeable than ever. _

_"Johnny, Mom..." he scratched his chin, searching for words. "Do you remember the story I told you? About where people go when they get really hurt or old?" I remembered him telling me about Heaven, but I still didn't get things, like why they couldn't come back. "Yeah," I said, confused. He paused again, making me a bit annoyed. He always did this when we talked about something serious. Something sad. I got worried. "Well, last month Mommy... she..." I heard him say bad words under his breath, words he and Mom told me never to say after I heard it in a movie. "...she went to Heaven, and is staying there now. She told me to tell you that she misses you every day."_

_"But why can't I talk to her then?" I questioned. Mom and Dad always called people on their phone, surely he could just call Mom, right?_

_He put a hand on_ _my shoulder and said "One day," before going back to painting. I decided that it was a good enough answer, and went back to painting the birdhouse._

* * *

**Alright, I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to Linda Key1! You always post a review as the chapters come in and I get to see what my readers think of my stories as they progress! Thanks!**


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